The legendary bartender at an Annapolis pub

Iris “P Nut” Cormier III always had a story ready when Annapolis ghost tours came through his bar.

He would smile at the people as they walked in, wheels turning in his mind as he flipped through a Rolodex of haunted tales involving the Maryland Inn. As the longtime sole bartender of its basement bar, Drummer’s Lot, he knew plenty about the alleged sightings of women in white and men smoking pipes. He shared memories of weird sounds he heard late at night or the time someone fell out of a window at the top of the stairs.

But the ghosts weren’t the point — the people were. Cormier knew all the tour guides and gave them nicknames. He loved making someone smile or laugh with a witty comment or a dramatic story, whether it was their first time at Drummer’s Lot or their thousandth.

The day after Cormier died this month, one of the ghost tour companies posted a social media tribute to its friend — perhaps now a “friendly spirit” still making drinks behind the bar and greeting old friends. It’s what he loved to do in life. Why not in death?

“That was not his business but that was his bar, and he ran that bar,” his sister Rhonda Cormier said.

P Nut, who became an Annapolis legend over four decades tending the bar, died July 8 of multiple illnesses. He was 66.

He was born in New Jersey on June 13, 1960, the second of Martha and Iris Cormier’s eight children. Shortly after his birth, a nurse said he was as small as a peanut. The nickname stuck.

The elder Iris was in the Navy, so the family moved often when P Nut was young. They made stops in Virginia, New Jersey and Florida before settling in Annapolis. In school, P Nut played baseball and bowled, and he enjoyed history class, his siblings said.

Their father wasn’t always present, so P Nut was a paternal figure for his younger siblings and “the man of the house,” said Rhonda, his youngest sister. He embraced that role and often tried to be in charge, siblings said — until his older sister reminded him who actually had the final say.

Rhonda described her brother as a “silent protector.” They lived in a small neighborhood, and word got back quickly if someone messed with his siblings. “Big Brother is always watching,” the family would joke.

“He didn’t make a big fuss, but he would just make sure everybody’s OK,” sister Yvette Cormier said.

He graduated from high school in 1981 and started working at Drummer’s Lot shortly after. It was just another job, family said, until P Nut started getting to know other employees and regular customers.

Over time, he morphed from a bartender into a pillar of the institution, a familiar face and no-nonsense conversationalist. He loved small talk about football — he was a massive Commanders fan — and embraced any opportunity to be a little sarcastic.

He usually had ESPN on the TV behind him and played old-school music. Earth, Wind & Fire, The Temptations and Babyface were usually on the playlist.

“He was authentic,” Rhonda said. “He would never put on airs. He’s gonna say what he feels. Even if it’s inappropriate he’s gonna say it, and I think that’s why people love him so much. He was not gonna change for anybody.”

He worked every Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s and rarely took vacations, loved ones said. He didn’t write down orders. He’d greet people by name and start working on their drinks before they sat.

There were few things more important to him than the bar — but topping the list was his daughter, Camesha “Lucy” Cormier, born in 1989. He’d met her mother at a nightclub a few years earlier. Though their romantic relationship didn’t work out, they became lifelong friends and co-parents.

Lucy’s early memories of her father mostly include cooking and sharing life lessons, such as the importance of helping others in need. He enjoyed treating his daughter to a meal at a nice steakhouse or grilling her the perfect piece of meat at home. Well done was never an option.

“He was definitely a jelly bean, I would say — hard on the outside, soft on the inside,” Lucy said.

He also loved family cookouts, where he could get in the zone and grill his famous ribs. He gave everyone in his family nicknames, ranging from “Whopper” and “DuckTales” to “Slob-a-thon” and “Froggy.”

Yvette admired her brother’s growth as a person as he poured everything into his daughter and his Annapolis community. He hadn’t grown up with a male role model, so he taught himself the values he preached and passed down to Lucy.

It was Yvette who taught him to do his daughter’s hair when she was little. P Nut wasn’t sure what to do with all the bows at first, but he eventually started to braid. The first attempt was a little “wackadoo,” his sister said, but he did her hair from then on.

Weeks before his death, when P Nut was in hospice and unsure if he would make it to his daughter’s next birthday, he asked his sisters to buy her an engraved watch saying, “My first love.”

P Nut was sick for the last few years of his life and spent recent months in the hospital. His family thinks the births of his two granddaughters, Ava and Zoe, gave him the strength to hang on through the pain and homesickness. Those little girls had “Pop Pop” wrapped around their fingers, Lucy said.

A celebration of life is scheduled for Aug. 16 at the Atreeum at Soaring Timbers from 4-9 p.m.

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